


Of Shades

by glassonion_archivist



Category: Farscape
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-07
Updated: 2002-04-07
Packaged: 2019-06-19 11:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15509052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassonion_archivist/pseuds/glassonion_archivist
Summary: "But love for someone who was never going to take advantage of all the teasing was perfect."





	Of Shades

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Glass Onion](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Glass_Onion), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Glass Onion’s collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/glassonion/profile).

Of Shades

Title: Of Shades 1/1  
Author: Scy  
Feedback: Enjoyed.   
Fandom: Farscape  
Disclaimer: No, none of these individuals are mine.  
Author's Notes: I have been watching the old episodes, and gods do I love Chiana. So dearly. Relationships should be treasured. In all forms. Bit of a ramble.  
Rating: R; for angst and general bad feeling.  
Dedication: Maayan; for 'Gehenna', and the agony that is 'House Divided.' Thoughts of leather for you.

* * *

Fighting a war for peace was like screwing for virginity, saying that went around on Earth.

Didn't make airs, just stood there; letting what he was show through. And at night, he was nude, even with the bedclothes to hold some of his nobility in.

Chiana always watched him amble off to his quarters, with the casual assertion that he had to get

a little rest. And all of them knew that such was unlikely, though of them, she might have been the one to call him on it.

She clutched palms to her mouth to hold back nausea or damming words; unsure which one would be the most disruptive. Perilous to unbalance those who were already nearly there.

Crichton's fingers clutched in a pitiable bid at control, even in slumber. The terrors of night rent the poise he depended on to bolster waning resources. The show cubicle's walls were splattered with crimson; the floors ribboned in a twisted stitching of blood. None of it visible to anyone but him.

The floors of the ship were warm; both from Moya's neural signals, zipping through them, and the odd solar light bathing the Leviathan. Chiana lay across them; belly down to absorb the heat. Stores had become low at some point, they did not remember, and now when she lay on her stomach, there was not enough padding to prevent discomfort, she couldn't recall being this thin since being on the run with her brother.

Not that the others were much better; whose responsibility to see them properly fed is not said, but the fault is as always, assigned readily.

They couldn't forgive him for his faults because he was their leader, and through some perverse logic, a leader was supposed to be flawless, without problems that cripple and endanger the crew. At least, that's what they'd been taught. So much of their teachings, obliterated by the quietly reasonable Human. So much to resent, so much to be grateful for. Hard to decide which route would be the best, easier was sometimes more painful, the worse choice.

* * *

There are times when an emotion has stealth; it has the cunning to know that the individual in its sights will not favor vulnerability over strength of a solitary sort.

But love has been eternally, the most clever of weaknesses, and it can take down the most capable with ease frightening to observe.

Chiana envied the way that it moved through her family; first promising things that would heal all wounds, and then disrobing to show flesh pocked and gouged with reality.

And somehow, she was the one on the sidelines; being afraid gave one a measure of protection, ruin whatever you are given and you will be able to stare at the others as they spoil themselves to softness that will not hold up in battle.

But, love for someone who was never going to take advantage of all the teasing was perfect. She could snuggle up to the Human, be as seductive as she ever was, and he might flirt a bit, yet he would never go through with any of it, and tousle her hair before wandering off again.

He was her support; falling in the most embarrassing and harmful ways, yet scraping together some sense and then pulling an ingenious scheme out of nowhere. Most times it was frelled several ways into the next weeken, but somehow they always pulled through.

Still, she lay close to footsteps and knew what the others did or would not know; that he was changing them, even as he became something less pleasant and more like their version of Order.

He could play a villain; charming, frantic, but very intriguing and some of that wasn't an act-after so long playing the part he didn't do such a good job taking it off.

With men like him, a smile meant a lot of things, and most of them were trouble.

So she plays the role of quiet buffer; ignoring what Jool teases her with; a friendship, or alliance, and crawls/sashays into his room each night. She has a right to be near him, the lady he adores cannot be his comrade in discomfort of the soul, she has enough of her own.

But he still has her; and as she curls around him, never close enough for a lover, but a friend, one who will do what those distant by choice will not: she catalogues the degrees of change.

Fin-

* * *


End file.
